


(You've Got to) Go There to Come Back

by diamondlife (elyndys)



Category: The Libertines
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 08:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18546379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elyndys/pseuds/diamondlife
Summary: Dads-on-holiday AU. Having cleaned up his life, Peter tries to bond with his teenage son by taking him on holiday to Thailand, where they meet another English single father trying his best to raise his young children...





	(You've Got to) Go There to Come Back

This must be the most peaceful place he’s ever been, thinks Peter. Secluded by the pool, his room - hut? Chalet? - discreetly tucked away amongst palm trees and unexpectedly verdant lawns and flowerbeds, Peter can breathe.

Peace. But what is that, Peter wonders, when he can hear every thought echo inside his empty head, with nothing to dull the impact? He’d thought it would be nice, to get away from the noise around him in London, to leave behind the distractions and the temptations and have some space to think, but maybe his thoughts are louder than all those things after all, and he’s not sure he should be feeling this uneasy about it.

He’s only been here a day, he tries to tell himself. It’s all new, he’ll get used to it. Just relax. Relax, and focus on Astile. That’s the main reason he came on holiday at all, isn’t it, to try to connect with his son as he becomes a young man. Astile certainly seems delighted to be brought to such an exotic location, enjoying the pool, excitably spotting the wildlife - at least in that, Peter thinks with affection, his son takes after him. He watches as Astile distracts two smaller boys from chasing the monkeys - _Only 15_ , he thinks, _and already knows more about being a dad than me eh_. Two women quickly join them - they must be related to the little boys, Peter concludes, and want to make sure they’re not “bothering him” or whatever other tactful euphemism they might use, but to his relief, Astile is chatting away easily with them in no time, making them laugh and smile. _Little charmer,_ Peter thinks proudly. He’ll happily take credit for that, too, even though he knows very well that Astile must be used to being surrounded by ladies of his mum’s age, and well accustomed to getting along with them all his life. 

“Is… is that your son?” someone asks a little hesitantly beside him, and Peter turns to look.

The guy is around Peter’s age, he estimates, but he’s in rather better nick than Peter, he can’t help but notice. Longish dark hair, unlined complexion, and maybe he’s been here a while already, because his skin is tanned and even, especially compared to Peter’s still milk-white flesh. 

Peter pushes his sunglasses up onto the top of his head before he answers. It’s just polite. “Yeah,” he says, putting on his friendliest smile. “Are those your boys?” he asks, thinking maybe it’s why the guy looks so nervous. He hopes he can set his mind at ease.

“Yes,” the guy replies. “I’m trying not to fret but those monkeys worry me. They've probably got a nasty bite. I’m glad your lad was there to step in, thank you for that.”

Peter can feel his heart warming to this guy already. “You’re very welcome,” he says, and puts out his hand. “I’m Peter, and my son is Astile.”

The guy shakes his hand, looking just a little less distracted. “Carl,” he says. “Nice to meet you. And my boys are Eli and Ramone.”

“Ramone!” Peter repeats, trying to keep his tone interestedly neutral. Wouldn’t do to offend this rather attractive fella right off the bat. “You’re a fan?”

“Well, my ex-wife was, more than me,” Carl says, and Peter can't help but have an interest in a couple of points in that sentence. “Prefer British punk myself,” he adds with a grin, which Peter returns full-beam. 

“Oh yeah, me too,” replies Peter, thrilled that they’ve immediately hit upon a topic he can expound on at length. “The Clash, Buzzcocks, Sex Pistols. The classics.”

“You into your music then?” Carl asks. He takes a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and offers it to Peter, before taking one himself and lighting it. 

“Oh yeah, all sorts of stuff,” Peter enthuses. “Sixties stuff, britpop, bit of skiffle and ska and the like. The Smiths were always my favourite band actually, but it's such a shame that Morrissey is such a twat.”

Carl snorts with laughter at that. “He certainly has his moments,” he chuckles. “Do you want to get a drink?” he asks, and Peter feels distinctly pleased, like he's managed to prove such engaging company for the past three minutes that Carl is happy to prolong it.

“I would, but it's so far,” he jokes, looking behind him at the building ten metres away where the bar is. Carl chuckles, and Peter is already on his feet. 

Carl buys them each a beer, and when he's satisfied he can still see enough of what's going on around the pool, they settle down in the air conditioned lounge. Even though it's December, and not even very sunny, it's still over thirty degrees outside, and Peter feels like a sweaty mess in the humidity. He doesn't see a single bead of sweat on Carl's smooth brow though, and he's grateful of the opportunity to cool down and dry out so he doesn't look quite as dishevelled. Maybe.

Something occurs to Peter that might be too personal a question for someone he's just met, but that's never stopped him before. And anyway, holidays are strange aren't they, you might share all manner of things with a person, and enjoy every moment, and then never see them again. What goes on tour, and so on and so forth. 

“If you don't mind me asking,” he prefaces his query with, though he's really hoping Carl doesn't. “You mentioned your ex-wife, so… who are those two girls with your boys?” Maybe Carl is a really fast worker. Fast and perhaps with an unconventional lifestyle.

“Oh, that's my sister and her wife,” Carl replies. “It was their idea we come out here. I think they had the thought that I might need to ‘relax’,” he adds, making exaggerated air quotes with a theatrical eye roll. “But it is nice to come to a place that's so completely different, and so beautiful. It's so tranquil. Which is lovely, but now I can hear myself think, and I'm not sure I like it.”

It's said with a joking tone, but Peter is struck by how similar his own thoughts were earlier. The sudden calm, like being thrown into a still lake - it might look peaceful, but if you break the surface, you still might drown.

“I know what you mean there,” he murmurs, and Carl turns to meet his gaze and properly hold it for the first time, and Peter feels an odd flutter inside, even more than just the satisfaction of capturing the attention of a good looking stranger. He instinctively likes Carl, his manner and the way he speaks, and of course the way he looks doesn’t diminish Peter’s keenness to have him around, but Peter feels like he’s an easy guy to be with, and he’d like to spend a lot more time that way. 

Peter can't decide if he's relieved or disappointed when Carl doesn't ask him to elaborate, but he isn't sure exactly what he'd have said if he did. In any case, what Carl does say next gives him a chance to impart some equally important information.

“Is it just you and Astile out here then?” he asks, and Peter is secretly rather pleased to quickly let Carl know that yes, it is.

“Yeah, Astile lives with his mum back at home in England, but we all thought it would be nice for the two of us to come out here, have a boys’ holiday.” He pauses for just a second, considering, but in for a penny, in for a pound has always been Peter's motto. “I… haven't been very involved in Astile's life, and I thought it was really about time I was. I want to have a go at actually being a dad, and I want to make sure he knows I'm trying, y'know?”

Carl is looking at him intently. His eyes are so clear and so blue, and Peter should probably look away, but he can't.

“That's really admirable,” Carl says, and Peter can hear that he's not just being polite, he really means it. “It's never too late, you know, to show you care and want to be there for him. He'll appreciate it.”

Peter feels stupidly touched by this appraisal from a stranger, and he wonders if he really has gone soft on a pretty face and some lovely blue eyes, but somehow he can tell Carl really means what he says, and he smiles, looking down now out of modesty. 

“Well, I mean I know that trying to impress him with grand gestures and fancy holidays can't necessarily make up for fifteen years of being a fuck up. But I hope it's a fresh start, anyway,” he says honestly. That _is_ what he hopes, it really, truly is, but the words feel fragile and flimsy as he says them, and the weight of expectation in them is heavy in his mind.

Carl smiles. “He seems pretty happy, anyway,” he says, gesturing to where Astile is still cheerfully accompanying the younger boys around the garden.

Peter feels a swell of an emotion something like pride, but it's quickly tempered by that nagging voice that tells him not to be so quick to take credit. “I think he's enjoying being a big brother,” he says, smiling despite himself. “He has a sister at home, but she's older. Must be nice to be the one being looked up to for once.” 

“I know how he feels,” says Carl, chuckling. “But having a big sister is invaluable at times, as you can see,” he adds, waving at his own through the window and raising his drink to her when she waves back.

Peter can't help smiling, thinking of his own sister. He should've thought to ask her to come. She would've been great with Astile. But at least, being here without another adult, he has an excuse to hang around with other dads who he encounters around the place, and if they happen to be extremely good looking, so much the better. He's never been that good at sharing, even with Amy Jo.

And besides, this was meant to be about him and Astile, just them, bonding, father and son. Which makes Peter rather ashamed to be hiding away and leaving the lad to his own devices. But he's fifteen years old, he needs some freedom, right? He won't want to be with some weird greying old dude in terrible shorts trying desperately to understand the youth, will he? 

“I just worry I'm going to make it worse,” he murmurs. “I wasn't around much while he was growing up, but maybe that was for the best. Maybe if I get involved now, I'll just fuck him up like I did myself.” Peter feels a moment of relief, because it does feel good to admit his fears to another person, but the relief is short-lived when he realises this might be a little heavy to offload on someone he's only known for ten minutes. That's another thing Peter's never been much good at - keeping his feelings inside for any longer than that.

Carl, to his credit and to Peter's immense relief, looks entirely unfazed. “Well, all you can do is try your best, and he'll see that. Look, he looks pretty cheerful right now, doesn't he? If you're still learning about each other, just try and understand who he is as a person. Like you would with anyone else you wanted to get to know,” he says.

Peter is surprised at how good that advice sounds to him. If he can get to know Carl, he can get to know Astile, right? There might be more riding on one than the other, but it's a good place to start, at least. “I just want to be able to relate to him, and vice versa,” he says honestly. 

“Just think back to when you were his age. I don't think teenage boys change much,” Carl says, smiling.

“When I was fifteen I was writing poetry,” Peter says wryly. He's aware that that isn't necessarily that relatable, and he's never really cared, until now.

“Do you still write poetry now?” Carl asks, taking Peter rather by surprise.

“Yes I do, actually,” he replies truthfully.

“Can't be all bad then,” Carl says, lighting another cigarette. “That sounds like a fine foundation to me.”

Peter is surprised again - he isn't used to such a matter of fact reaction, and such a positive one either, not from another bloke. It's true that he doesn't usually care - in fact, he rather enjoys the sneers he receives, revels in his own defiance of society and macho stereotypes - but, this once, it feels good to feel… unremarkable. Like writing poetry is as everyday as watching football, or going to the cinema. Peter can't help but feel like, coming from Carl, that's significant. 

“What about you? What were you doing when you were fifteen?” he asks, to take the focus off himself, but also because he's a nosy parker who wants to find out more about Carl. Anyway, it'll be good practice, right?

“Playing guitar and selling weed I stole from my mum,” comes the reply, and it's so immediate and deadpan that Peter can't help but laugh.

“Oh, so you're a reformed character now are you?” he teases.

“Oh yes, that's me,” says Carl, and he crosses himself, and puts his hands together in a gesture of prayer.

Peter giggles. “If you're reformed, what am I? What's the opposite of reformed? Deformed?”

Carl laughs now, and Peter feels rather pleased with himself. “Listen, whatever’s happened in the past, you're here with Astile now, so just try and enjoy yourself. If you don't, he won't either. At the risk of sounding cheesy as fuck, just try and make some good memories. Things you can both look back on and think, I'm glad that happened, and I'm glad it happened then. You're not going to fuck it up irretrievably over a couple of weeks.”

“I'll have plenty of time to do that later,” Peter responds automatically.

Carl lifts his beer, and chinks the bottle against Peter's. “That's the spirit!” he says cheerily, and Peter finds himself laughing again, despite it all.

“So, I'm assuming you don't still steal drugs from your mum and sell them on - but do you still play guitar?” he asks. He just wants to keep talking to Carl really, he feels like maybe they have a lot to say.

“Not really,” says Carl, his expression suddenly looking wistful to the point of unhappiness. “I still _own_ a guitar. But I don't remember the last time I picked it up. What a shame, eh, to spend so much time on it as a kid, just to forget about it as an adult - should've paid attention in school instead, shouldn't I,” he concludes with a half-smile. 

“I paid attention throughout school, and it didn't get me that far,” says Peter, shrugging. 

Carl pauses for a moment, meets Peter's eye before he says, “Better not tell the kids these things, eh?” 

Peter chuckles. “I suppose not.”

“Speaking of,” Carl says, finishing off his beer. “I should get back out there, see how the boys are.”

“Oh, yeah of course,” says Peter, suddenly brought back to the immediate situation around him. He wonders uneasily if Carl is just making an excuse - Peter’s said too much after all, got too heavy, and Carl’s had enough and wants to get away from him, at least for now. That's the kind of thing he hasn't worried about for years - he hasn't had to negotiate this kind of social situation, with a nice, smart guy who maybe he just might want to impress, a little bit, for a long time. Or at least, he hasn't had to do it sober, anyway. Another thing he has to re-learn, if he ever knew how to do it in the first place. 

“See you later,” Carl says, and the smile he gives Peter as he leaves looks genuine enough, but how genuine are regular adults with each other at any given time, Peter wonders? He has no real idea, but he supposes he'll find out. 

He watches as Carl goes out to where the boys are, the younger one still with his sister and her wife, the older one with Astile nearby. Carl goes over and talks to Astile - maybe thanking him for his monkey intervention earlier - and Peter can't help but be relieved as they chat and smile easily for a few minutes. _That's it son, do me proud!_ he thinks, and he is proud, again, of his son's easy disposition and friendly manner. _And put in a good word for your old man while you're at it, eh?_ What are kids for after all? Peter feels like he needs all the help he can get, on every front.

Fortunately, Peter only has to wait until that evening for another chance to try to determine whether Carl is truly just a caring father, or if he'd sampled Peter's company, and decided that any more was unnecessary, thanks very much. The latter doesn't _seem_ to be the case, because it's Carl who approaches him and Astile, alone, just as they're finishing dinner. 

“They've left me,” he explains, looking rather adorably bashful, or so Peter thinks. “Lucie and Zoe said they'd go and put the boys to bed, and I don't really fancy being a third wheel for another night. Do you mind if I join you for a bit?”

“By all means!” says Peter, hoping he doesn't seem too overenthusiastic. Just setting an example for the boy, he tells himself, being friendly and welcoming. Not that Astile seems to need any help with that, because he immediately starts chatting with Carl like they're old mates. Peter senses this could all work out rather in his favour, if he pays attention. Might be a big if.

They get some tea, and Carl produces a pack of cards from his pocket. 

“Do you know how to play rummy, Astile?” he asks, already starting to deal.

“Yep,” confirms Astile, and Peter frowns.

“I don't,” he points out, but Carl just grins at him.

“We'll have to teach your dad how to play then, won't we,” he says, giving Astile a theatrical wink. 

Peter, who thinks the last card game he played was probably snap, braces himself. 

He loses every single hand, of course, despite Carl's patient attempts at tutelage, but it's ok really, because Astile, wins plenty. As does Carl. 

As soon as Astile has been responsibly sent off to bed, Peter asks, “Were you letting him win?” Not like Peter could tell.

“Which answer is going to paint me in a better light?” Carl quips.

Peter chuckles. “All I'm saying is, if you were letting him win, you could've let me win a few as well!”

“Ahh, I was trying, but Astile was just too good, he pounced on every chance,” Carl says, with a twinkle in his eye. He takes a cigarette and lights it with a look of relief. “I'm trying not to smoke as much with the kids around, but it's harder than I anticipated. It’s nice to have a smoking companion,” he adds with a conspiratorial chuckle, offering Peter another cigarette from the open packet.

Peter, who doesn’t smoke nearly as much as he used to, is absolutely happy to reverse that trend, if Carl needs an excuse. Especially if Carl is going to keep sharing his own cigarettes. 

“Have you got any plans for tomorrow?” Peter asks. Small talk still feels a little unwieldy to him, but he could use the ideas. 

“We were thinking of going to the beach actually,” says Carl. “You'd be very welcome to join us.”

“That sounds lovely, thank you,” Peter agrees immediately, hoping it didn't sound like he was fishing for an invitation, but more than willing to accept it. “There might be some other kids Astile's age for him to hang out with, he might like that. Or he might not. I honestly don't know what he'd like,” he confesses, suddenly crestfallen.

“Well, you can find out tomorrow,” Carl says kindly. “Relax,” he adds, and immediately winces. “Fucking hell, I sound like my sister. She'd find it incredibly ironic to hear _me_ trying to advise someone not to worry, I'm sure. You saw what I was like with those monkeys around earlier, every little thing sets my nerves off. Any time either of the boys coughs or sniffles, I’m ready to dial 999. That’s why Lucie and Zoe wanted to bring us on holiday, so they could help look after the kids and I could have a break and chill out, but it’s just not that easy. You can’t just switch it off - as I’m sure you’re aware,” he says with a sympathetic smile.

Peter tries not to remember when he could switch it off all too easily, and chose to every time. Instead he thinks about Carl, poor guy. Even if Peter has worries, at least Astile is already on his way to being a young adult. Peter doesn’t have to worry about half the things Carl still does. 

“It must be tough for you,” Peter says. “I skipped all that, I’ve had all the hardest parts taken care of for me already.”

Carl looks worried, again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest my situation is so much harder than yours,” he says hastily, so hastily Peter struggles to catch all the words. “It’s easy for me to talk, I’ve got all of that to come.”

Peter can’t help but laugh. “You really do worry about everything, don’t you?” he teases, but gently in case he sets Carl off further. “At the risk of sounding like your sister - _‘relax’_. One thing you don’t have to worry about is offending me, especially when it comes to parenting skills. I’m just starting out at this, I can learn a lot from you I’m sure. In fact, I’d be very grateful. What you were saying earlier made a lot of sense.” It feels quite nice to Peter that he can be the one saying reassuring things, it’s nice to feel helpful and useful. And it’s also nice to feel that Carl feels comfortable saying these things to him, just as much as Peter did earlier. 

Carl looks relieved. “I’m glad,” he says. “Thank you. I appreciate that. And you know, I think you’re doing absolutely fine with Astile,” he adds warmly. “He was having fun just now. He’s enjoying being with you.”

Peter smiles, grasping onto Carl’s words and holding them tight. He’s happy to receive the reassurance and delighted to hear it from Carl. “Thanks,” he murmurs. “I think it helped having you here, took some of the pressure off us both having to keep each other engaged and think of things to say to each other. So I appreciate that, too,” he says. Rather slyly, inside he hopes Carl takes that as an invitation to keep accompanying them, to ease things along with his genial presence. 

“I’m happy to help,” Carl says, and the genuine and lovely smile he gives rather makes Peter feel a little warmer inside. 

They have a few more drinks, and a lot more cigarettes, but eventually and, at least it would appear, reluctantly, they decide they really should be responsible and get back to their families. At least Astile is old enough to be alone for a few hours, thinks Peter. As things go, he really is coming into this parenthood thing at a time when it’s of least inconvenience to his life - though he’s not sure Astile’s mother would necessarily agree. He certainly feels both reassured by Carl’s words, and cheered by his company, and he goes to bed feeling encouraged, not only with Astile but also that he’s made a new holiday friend who seems almost too good to be true. 

Peter wakes up early - much earlier than Astile, anyway - so he gets washed and dressed and goes to sit outside and read for a while before breakfast. It’s a pleasant temperature already, not too hot and sticky yet, and Peter can’t deny that being outside also gives him a good position for spotting - and being spotted by - acquaintances he might pass the time with as they head from their huts to the breakfast room in the main hotel building. 

He sees Lucie and Zoe, with Eli and Ramone, and he exchanges pleasantries with them, but evidently Carl is almost as late a sleeper as a teenage boy, because it’s quite a while before he sees him. Peter tries not to look too overeager to see him, but he suspects that if he were a dog, his tail might be wagging. 

“Morning,” says Carl as he saunters over. “What you reading?”

“ _Tristram Shandy_ ,” says Peter, showing him the cover a little self-consciously. How much of a pretentious wanker does this make him look? Again, usually he wouldn't give a shit, and that's precisely why he chose a book like this to bring with him - but right now it feels like much more of a self-own than it usually would.

“Nothing like a little light holiday reading, is there,” Carl says, raising his eyebrows with a grin.

Peter chuckles. That response is OK, he can deal with that. “I admit it's taking me rather longer than I expected to get through it,” he says wryly.

“I didn't get very far with it at all, so you're doing better than me,” says Carl. “Have you had breakfast already?”

“No, I'm still waiting for Astile,” Peter replies.

“Come on, he'll find you,” Carl says, and Peter happily follows him inside. 

Carl just keeps impressing him, he reflects quietly to himself as he drinks his tea. Gives good advice, enjoys punk music, plays guitar, doesn't flinch from either poetry or impenetrable classic literature - Peter can't blame him for not reading much of Tristram; even the fact that he's had a go makes Peter warm to him even further. How on earth has he had the good fortune to stumble upon this guy halfway around the world?

They're both English, Peter considers, and Carl sounds southern like himself - at the next appropriate opportunity, he takes the chance to ask, “Where are you from, by the way?” Maybe they've passed each other in the street before, though Peter rather fancifully thinks that if he'd ever seen a face like that, he'd remember.

“Well, I'm from Basingstoke originally, but I've just moved to Brighton from London,” Carl says. “Lucie lives there, and after the divorce… I thought it would be nice to be closer to her.”

Loves his sister, Peter adds to his mental list of admirable qualities Carl possesses. “Brighton,” he says. “Very nice, I love the sea and the seaside.”

“So do I,” says Carl. “Brighton's almost too good for me really, the seaside should always be a bit cheap and tatty around the edges, I think.”

Peter grins. “Yes, exactly,” he agrees. “Greasy spoon cafes and closed half the year, faded Victorian glamour at the very least.”

“Exactly!” says Carl. “Brighton’s repainted its glamour a bit too vividly. I'm not sure I fit in yet. I feel a lot more comfortable where there's a bit of grime and wear and tear.”

“You should come and visit me,” Peter says, before he can think to phrase it any better. “Plenty of that round where I live,” he adds, hoping that makes it sound casual enough.

“Oh, where's that?” asks Carl.

“Poplar,” says Peter with an uneasy smile. “Not sure there was ever any glamour there to fade, to be honest.”

“Oh, all of London has a certain glamour and charm all its own though, doesn't it?” Carl says. “I grew up dreaming of moving to London, ended up living there for years. Never thought I'd ever leave. But things inevitably change, eh,” he says, rather wistfully. 

“I love London too, but it gets oppressive, doesn't it,” Peter says sympathetically. “Loud and crowded and hemmed in.” Association, and temptation, he thinks, but doesn't say. “I can understand you getting out. There's freedom, being close to the sea,” he says. “And London will always be there, if you want to come back.”

“Yes, I suppose it's not like I've gone and done something silly like pack up and run away to Thailand, is it,” Carl says with that twinkly smile again, the one that makes it seem like he's sharing a joke just between himself and Peter. “Though property prices here seem extremely reasonable, I have to say.”

Peter laughs, and allows himself for a moment to imagine it, running away to a place like this, as far away as he could get from everything that chases him so relentlessly back home. It feels good to even think about, a rush of relief he hasn't felt in so long; but he'd also be running away from Astile, wouldn't he, running away from his chance to make amends. To prove himself. 

_Speak of the devil_ , Peter thinks to himself, because Astile finally appears. Perhaps Carl took Peter's words last night in the spirit they were intended, because he happily sticks around and acts as a welcome conduit for conversation. Carl is funny and engaging to listen to, fast-talking and self-effacing, and Peter, open and as sensitive as buds in spring, feels a glow in his chest and his belly and in the back of his mind, too, that's growing and taking hold, and he's all too eager to let it.

He's undeniably a little envious of Carl, and his ease speaking to Peter's own son, but he also knows this is an opportunity for him, he should pay attention, because he can learn, and God knows he needs to. 

At least, Peter realises during the course of their conversation, he and Astile have football in common. Carl takes a rather sheepish backseat when the topic comes up, as if he's worried he'll lose some man points for not really caring about that most fundamental of British male obsessions, but not only does Peter not give a shit about that, he's quite grateful for the opportunity to come into his own. Good old sport, he thinks - when it comes to teenage boys, you can always rely on it to generate hours of impassioned discussion.

Unless they're like Carl, perhaps, but Peter actually finds that rather endearing. If Peter wants to defy convention with his poetry-writing and impossibly dense eighteenth century literature, he can certainly admire a man who shuns the machismo associated with the world of sport. 

Peter found Carl attractive from the start, but there's something that's more than that, Peter can feel it, as every new bit of Carl that's revealed to him seems even more appealing to him than the last. He's drawn to Carl and his focus is narrowing, letting Carl take up more space in his head - it doesn't feel like a moth and a flame, because Peter doesn't sense danger; not that Peter ever senses danger, but now it's more like Carl is a magnet, and Peter has a shiny metallic heart that's tugging him closer. He wants to discover more about Carl, because the glimpses he's seen so far have been so exactly what he likes and what he wants that he can't help but hope there's more of the same still to be uncovered.

But if there is - what can be even do about it? To the public eye, Carl seems like the model of a heterosexual man - married (previously), two recently-produced children. Not that that necessarily means anything - after all, Peter has two children of his own, though he thinks dealing with one at a time is more than enough for now. Outward appearances must surely suggest Peter is straight too. Peter, rather slyly, thinks there is probably a benefit in this - if Carl is straight, he'll just assume Peter is too, and maybe he'll have a little more leeway with slips of the tongue that might appear a little more than just friendly. 

But if Carl isn't - well. Peter's mind might be a little out of practice, having been away for a while, but he thinks his heart will still be able to tell him what to do. 

As planned, they head to the beach after breakfast. It's not far, only a short walk, and it's not yet too hot. Peter doesn't mind the heat anyway, it's nice to be away from miserable winter in England for once. A break from that spirit-crushing greyness is exactly what he needs right now. Something as far removed from his usual world as possible.

The sun is shining more brightly today, and Peter watches Carl slather sun cream all over his children. It's really very sweet how much he fusses, Peter thinks. He can see how desperately Carl wants to get it right, and he can see how much the boys love him when they giggle and hug and kiss him. Peter feels a little strange. He isn't sure exactly how he feels at all. Some part of his brain is aware that, if he'd had those chances to be with Astile when he was that age, maybe everything would've been easier. But he did have those chances, and he knows it would've been much worse for Astile than just staying away. That was always what he reasoned, and he knows that it's true, even if it is also a convenient excuse. And to wish things were different then, would be to revise his whole life, and if he were to do that… even Peter's skilled imagination can't easily conjure up the path his life might've taken, if everything he'd done as an adult were, essentially, different. 

Stay in this moment, he tells himself. Deal with the situation as it is right now. That's all he can do. Take it from here.

“Do you want some?” Carl asks, and Peter takes a moment to return from his contemplation and realise that he's being offered the sun cream.

“Nah, I'll be alright thanks,” he says with a smile. “I could do with some colour.” That's an understatement and a half - Peter looks like his skin hasn't felt the sun for years, which isn't that far off. Circumstances have rather precluded it at times, he thinks, with dark humour.

Carl frowns. “You don't want to get burnt,” he warns, and Peter finds it incredibly endearing that Carl is concerned, wants to fuss over him as well, fatherly instinct kicking in out of habit. 

“Oh, don't worry, it might not look like it, but I actually do tan,” he says with a grin, spreading his arms out away from his sides. Maybe if he resists long enough, Carl will take matters into his own hands and come at him with sun cream at the ready. That particular daydream is rather delightful, but sadly that's all it remains, and Carl just pointedly leaves the bottle within easy reach, in case Peter should change his mind.

Carl and his family build castles in the pristine sand. Peter watches as Astile observes a small group of other young tourists, and it isn’t long before they’ve invited him to join their ball game a short way away. Peter is suddenly aware of his actual parental duties, such as not losing the child, or letting the child be lured away, or roam into the sea, etc etc, and he watches them for a while, but everything seems pleasant and friendly and as it should be. Peter is relieved, really, that his son is so well-adjusted and gets along with others so well. He’s a likeable boy, and that makes him feel both proud, and relieved for Astile’s own sake. 

Peter is alone. He’s brought Tristram along, but he can’t deny it’s hard going on a first read, and he wishes he’d brought something he could lose himself in more easily. His mind keeps wandering, and the same anxious thoughts keep creeping up on him. Is he doing enough? And if he isn't, what should he be doing more of? Astile seems happy enough, but is that unrelated to, or even despite, Peter's presence? What's the point of Peter even being here? He doesn't know what he's doing and he doesn't know why he's trying, except to assuage his own guilt and try and make himself look good after all these years. He should just slink away and stop embarrassing himself and everyone around him. After all, everyone must know, where he's been, what he's done, how he's lived. He doesn't know how much Astile knows about his life and why he's been so absent, but he's at an age now where he'd surely be asking questions, and understand the answers. Peter would completely understand if he wanted nothing to do with him at all. 

The sun seems extremely bright, and Peter feels too hot, but at the same time there's a cold grip tightening inside him, making his breath shallow and his throat tight. Everything around him suddenly looks like he's viewing it through the bottom of a bottle, narrowing and distorted, and he needs to stop it before he loses control.

“You alright?” 

Peter takes a deep breath, and forces himself to focus on Carl, looking at him with kindly concern. 

He manages a smile. “Yeah,” he says, and he actually does feel better, just for being asked. 

“You looked like you were spacing out a bit,” says Carl, and Peter is thankful to him for putting it that way, and not pressing him. “Old Tristram not too enthralling?”

Peter smiles ruefully. “Maybe not the right time or place for him,” he admits. 

“I really should give it another go myself, I hate giving up on a book,” Carl says. “If you want something a bit lighter, have you ever read _The Diary of a Nobody_?”

Peter has, and he is happy to be led down this path of literary discussion. He's so relieved and grateful that Carl was able to divert him from freaking out, whether on purpose or inadvertently Peter doesn't know, but he's glad either way. He's offered him some distraction and some focus, on one of Peter's favourite topics, and he feels calm again in no time. 

He knows he only met Carl yesterday, and they're far from home in a holiday bubble that's not quite real, but right now he's content to think of Carl as the most perfect man he's ever met - clever, well-read, funny, caring, different, and really quite extraordinarily good-looking to boot. Peter is more than happy to enjoy the feeling of having a giddy holiday crush, like he's the teenager here. It's just a nice feeling, being around someone pleasant that he has some things in common with, and that he really quite fancies. It's not like he's going to get weird or creepy, or even do anything about it at all. Unless he gets the idea that Carl might want him to, but that is a whole different train of thought, that Peter might give some consideration to later, when alone.

It's been a long time since Peter has felt like this, and it feels rather innocent and sweet. Most of the people he's been with in the last phase of his life, he was with them because they were there, and they were enough like him that they understood his lifestyle, were a part of it themselves, and wouldn't recoil from the dark places. But looking back, and even at the time, it felt sordid and grimy and in a way sad, a desperate reaching and clinging for what comfort or momentary closeness could be found. No real connections, except for the obvious, and those were severed the moment Peter decided to get out. He doesn't think he's met anyone in the last five, maybe ten, years who he thought was worth bringing out of the pit with him. 

But this is different. It - and Carl - are fresh and new and bright, and Peter wants to enjoy that lovely feeling, and not look back. Never looking back. Just focussing on now.

As the day goes on the temperature rises, just like yesterday, and there's no aircon out here at the beach. Eventually Carl gives in and removes his top, and Peter does his best to be subtle as he admires the smooth sweep of his back, the even olive tone of his skin, the slight pooch of his belly as he sits. It's so delightfully endearing and sexy, at the same time.

Peter is enjoying the view, while hoping it doesn't show too much on his face, but Carl, yet again, wears a look of concern.

“I need to get back to the gym,” he says, with a wry, self-conscious smile.

Peter feels momentarily dizzy at the mental image of Carl working out - another thought to pursue in greater detail later - but he tries his best to hide it. He doesn't try to hide his disbelief, though.

“What are you talking about, if you need to, what do I need to do?!” he exclaims, chuckling. “I can't say I've ever been too keen on exercise for its own sake, I must confess.”

“Well, I was never a real hardcore gym bunny, I'm too lazy,” Carl admits. “Just work out the glamour muscles,” he adds, with that twinkly look again that makes Peter feel a little melty round the edges. 

Carl, for all his periodic shows of nerves, isn't shy when it comes to conversation, and Peter finds it entirely effortless to keep talking with him. Carl has plenty to say, on the most varied of topics, from their studious literary discussion, to frivolous TV and gossip that Peter doesn't understand all of, but the way Carl tells it is just so entertaining. This, even more than the feelings of attraction he has to Carl, is what he's missed, more than he realised - conversation that's stimulating and on his own level, and that he actually feels he's being matched in, and neither judged nor pandered to. And best of all, he might actually remember most of it tomorrow, too. He certainly doesn't want to forget any of it, doesn't want to forget Carl's turns of phrase, the way he gestures with his cigarette, the impressions he does that range from terrible to worse. The way he smiles when Peter says something witty, and makes Peter feel like he's hit the target, right in the slot.

It's probably bad, he thinks, to get so taken with this guy when he's come here ostensibly for much more noble reasons. But he can't deny, he feels much better than he did, and that, he thinks, is worth something right now.

“Oh,” says Carl when they're heading back from the beach. “You have got a bit of a tan after all.” He pats Peter on the shoulder, as if to test that he’s real, and smiles when he is.

Peter feels a brief, silly little flutter under Carl’s scrutiny. Always one to feel every emotion to the maximum it can be felt, and chase that feeling as far as he can, he can’t help but enjoy every nice little remark that Carl makes, or every time their eyes meet for more than a moment. 

It is nice, and it is reassuring, and it does make Peter feel like he’s not as inept at human communication and connection as he might have feared, and his confidence feels rather bolstered. He feels rather more relaxed tonight at dinner with Astile, at least. The boy has plenty to tell him about the people he met on the beach, and Peter finds it easy to go along with the flow, delighted that Astile finds him easy enough to talk to. Astile, it seems, has heard from his new acquaintances that the boat trips around the coast and islands are very enjoyable, so can they do that tomorrow?

“Course,” agrees Peter readily, thankful as much as anything to have tomorrow’s activity served right up for him. It sounds nice anyway, Peter loves boats and the ocean and it’ll be beautiful.

Carl comes over again after dinner, when his kids are packed off to bed, and Peter is even more pleased to see him than he was last night, because it shows both that Peter still hasn't worn thin yet, and that Carl feels comfortable enough to come and join them. They play cards again, and Peter manages to win a few hands this time, though he isn't sure if Carl - and even Astile - are letting him, and he'd rather not know. 

“You can tell me to fuck off at any time, if you want,” Carl murmurs, when Astile has gone to bed. “If I'm interfering or getting in the way. I don't mean to.”

“No no, of course you’re not,” Peter falls over himself to emphasise. “I absolutely don’t want you to fuck off, I promise.”

Carl smiles. “That’s reassuring to know, after a whole day of knowing me,” he says. “But there’s still time!”

Peter chuckles, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, I’m glad of your company,” he says. He hesitates just a moment, but he might as well tell. He’s already spilt enough of his innermost concerns when he’d only known Carl five minutes, and he didn’t seem put off by that. “You’re keeping me sane, at least, as much as that’s possible anyway. On the beach… I was feeling some anxiety, about Astile and what the hell I think I’m doing, but you pulled me out of it and I’m very grateful for that.” 

He holds his breath, hoping he hasn’t embarrassed Carl or alarmed him, but to his relief, Carl is still smiling, looking a little bashful. 

“I’m glad about that,” he says, and he sounds sincere. “I can imagine how hard it must be for you. Well, I think I can imagine anyway. I can try. I know that anxious feeling anyway, much too well. And if anything I do helps to make it easier, then that makes me very happy.”

Peter almost sighs with relief and disproportionate affection. Carl keeps saying just the right things, that has to count for something, right? Peter can't possibly be expected to resist.

“Something else I noticed at the beach was how good you are with your kids,” Peter goes on. “You're so natural with them.” Even to his own ears he sounds like he's marvelling at Carl's skills, so incomprehensible to him, and that's pretty much true.

Carl actually looks noticeably proud at this praise. “It's all I ever wanted really, to be a dad. Took me a long time to pull myself enough together to think I might be any good at it, but honestly, they're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And definitely the only worthwhile thing I've ever done,” he says, with a wry chuckle.

“I wish I could feel the same,” Peter murmurs, before he realises how awful that must sound. “I mean, Astile probably is the best thing I've ever been involved in producing, that much is true. But… I never really had any ideas of being a parent, and certainly not at that age. I wasn't even together with his mum, not really - just one of those things that happened, and I thought I'd try and do my best and do the right thing, but… That wasn't something I was capable of doing then.” 

As soon as he shuts his mouth he wonders again why he's dropped all this stuff on Carl. It can't be very attractive, treating him like free therapy when he can't even get away easily, and he's not painting himself in a very good light either. But he instinctively trusts Carl. He feels like he can be open with him. And besides, he doesn't want to just talk bullshit with a guy he's actually interested in, because that would be a waste of both their time. Talking about the weather isn't how you build a bond with someone when you haven't got a lot of time, and he'd rather Carl remember him as a real person when they go home, not just some guy he passed time with.

He knows he’s justified in his faith in Carl, because he just nods. “You're doing that now, though,” he says, like he did before, and Peter supposes he should listen, because what else can he do, except what he is now? “Anyway, even with the best of intentions, things don't always work out the way you expect. I thought marriage and a family was all I wanted, but as soon as the kids came along… Let's just say I wasn't quite the husband she might've wanted,” he says, with a wry smile.

Oh, Peter is intrigued at that. What could be mean? Peter's imagination can come up with a very pleasing interpretation. He almost wants to ask, it's on the tip of his tongue, but he can't find words to inquire with that don't sound clumsy and obvious. 

Maybe, Peter thinks with happy hope, Carl feels the same trust towards him that Peter does towards Carl, because even though Peter doesn't ask, Carl goes on anyway.

“She was quite a bit younger than me, and had things she still wanted to do, so we agreed that the children would live with me, and despite my moments of worry, it's worked out best for everyone really. I wouldn't change any of it. But if you'd told anyone I knew, ten years ago, that this would be the way my life would be now - they'd never have believed you.” He pauses, takes a thoughtful drag on his cigarette. “So I suppose what I'm saying is, no matter what kind of a mess you think you are, you can come back from that, you know.”

Peter is completely ready and willing to accept anything Carl, this handsome, earnest, clever near-stranger, has to say. If Carl thinks he can be a better person, then surely he can be. And he wants to try, just so he doesn't disappoint him. 

It's only a little later, when they've separated for the night, that Peter wonders in more detail just what kind of a state Carl's life was in, if his embrace of fatherhood was so unlikely before the children came along. Peter thinks that must have been much later than just being the teenage miscreant Carl hinted at before. Maybe, maybe that's something they might have in common too. Peter wonders if they'll reach a stage where he can find out. But if being an active parent could turn Carl's life around, maybe it can work for Peter, too.

That part feels less certain than the rest, Peter has to admit. But he feels encouraged and filled with renewed resolve, at least, and it's with a genuine positivity that he approaches the next day.

He feels even more positive when he and Astile get to the place where the boat trips leave from, and who should be there already, but Carl and his family.

“I promise we're not following you around!” jokes Peter, hoping it doesn't sound like protesting too much, but Carl laughs and seems perfectly happy to welcome them into his own family group, and Peter feels delighted to be accepted.

After all, that's not something that's happened to him very much over the past few years, being accepted by respectable company. At one time he wouldn't have cared, would have thought, who needs that kind of acceptance anyway, from dull, closed minded idiots - but that's not Carl. If he'd known there were people like Carl walking around amongst normal people all this time, he might have cleaned up his life sooner.

The sea is the clearest and most beautiful aquamarine that Peter has ever seen, and the boat whips across it at a speed that gives him a rare and genuine thrill. _This is the life_ , he thinks to himself. _If I was ever rich, this is what I'd get myself, one of these. And a fast car to match._ That's something that he thinks maybe Carl doesn't agree with him on, though, judging by the whiteness of his knuckles as he grips the rail in front of him. Peter takes pity on him, and engages him in some moderately-pitched conversation that he hopes will be enough to take Carl's mind off the possibility of a watery crash. He supposes he's not surprised at Carl's anxiety, bearing in mind everything he's said about his nerves on behalf of his children, but if Peter can at least provide some distraction, he will do his best. Especially if it means he gets to enjoy Carl's attention on him again.

The fastest part of the boat ride doesn't seem to take that long, though Peter thinks Carl might feel differently. They reach some pretty islands, where snorkelling and scuba diving are available, though again Carl doesn't seem keen to partake. 

“Not much of a water person?” Peter asks.

“It's not so much that I don't like it, I mean, it's all lovely and picturesque,” says Carl. “But I can't swim, so I'll just enjoy the view. Maybe we'll have a paddle,” he adds, picking up his younger son in a very endearing and undeniably attractive way, as everyone else goes to explore beneath the surface. 

Can't swim, thinks Peter, how very cute. Somewhere in his distant daydreams he pulls off a daring rescue, possibly involving mouth to mouth, and definitely involving some extreme gratitude on a secluded dune. It amuses him to think of himself as the protective alpha type, taking care of poor endangered Carl. He rather does want to take care of him a little if he's honest, ease his worries and stresses for this short time while he can, because it seems like they're a heavy burden that Carl feels like he bears alone. And besides that, he feels like he wants to reciprocate all the well-placed words that Carl has offered him, too. It rather makes him feel better, if he can be a functional enough human to offer support to another as well.

Peter loves the water, he loves beautiful adventures, and he hasn't done anything like this since he was a kid. He'd forgotten how much he could take delight in such simple happinesses, and he's so pleased he's able to share them with his own son. One more step, he congratulates himself. He's going in the right direction.

Before they go back to the mainland Peter tries to fix the feeling in his mind, wants to hold onto it and cherish this memory. He feels perfectly serene, probably for the first time since he got here, and possibly for a long time before that as well. For once, he feels like he's done the exact right thing for himself, and everything has fitted into the right places inside him. For the first time in a while, there's no jagged edges.

He looks at Carl, perfect, not quite real Carl, because he's a part of it too, this satisfied and complete feeling inside him. He's golden and statuesque in the sunlight, and Peter thinks it's a shame he doesn't care for the water, because he'd look so beautiful in it, his eyes ocean-blue, a merman, a creature from Peter's imagination. Peter is so attracted to him in this moment that he aches. He wants to stand close to him, trace his lovely profile with his fingertips, kiss his lips as delicately as a flower. 

He wants to, and, he thinks with sudden clarity, he will. Not now, and maybe not tomorrow, but he will, if Carl will accept it. Peter doesn't mind making a fool of himself, but he's not an idiot. He trusts his romantic heart to know if and when he should.

Nobody speaks much on the journey back. Peter is contentedly tired and mellow, and even Carl looks a lot less nervous on the boat than he did on the way out. He catches his eye, and Carl smiles.

“It's nice to see you looking a bit more relaxed,” Carl murmurs, so only Peter can hear. Maybe he doesn't want to embarrass Peter in front of his son, call attention to the uncertainty that he's been feeling - Carl might not know he's the only one who knows about that, but he is, and Peter appreciates his consideration. 

“You too,” Peter whispers back, wondering if it's the right thing to say, but it's true. Carl looks calm and untroubled, and that cheers Peter even more. 

“It's been a good day,” says Carl, and the smile he gives Peter makes his heart swoop in his chest. 

Carl is right, it has been. Peter’s earlier optimism is bolstered - if he can have a good day today, why not tomorrow too, and the day after? He knows it can't always be like that, tells himself not to get carried away because there'll be setbacks, like his moment on the beach, but a full good day is a good sign. Things can be OK, he's capable of doing alright.

Peter is tired enough to be ready to go to bed right after dinner, but then Carl is coming over again and he can’t possibly take his leave too soon, not when the opportunity to spend more time with him is right there. Carl is in good spirits, and it’s impossible for Peter not to feel enlivened by that as well. He’s never met anyone whose sense of humour chimes so exactly with his own, understanding Peter’s retro comedy references and joining in with catchphrases and punchlines long-forgotten by everyone else Peter has ever tried them on. Carl is beautiful when he laughs, really properly laughs, and Peter wants to make it happen as often as he can. He feels rather earnestly invested in Carl’s happiness, especially now while he has some responsibility for it. 

Carl is beautiful whatever he does. He's beautiful when he laughs, he's beautiful when he's serious, he's beautiful with his children, he's beautiful gazing over the ocean. Peter is smitten, and he exults in it, replaying every time he made Carl laugh or smile, and every time Carl said something kind or complimentary or understanding. He's being like a kid but who cares? Whose business is it? It's far from the worst thing Peter's ever done, he thinks, when he goes to bed that night and imagines Carl there with him. Thinks about being able to touch that smooth golden skin, and feel Carl's warm body pressed against him. 

_“I've wanted you since I first saw you,”_ says Carl in his imagination. _“And I know you wanted me too.”_

Oh, Peter does want him, quite exquisitely, his perfect holiday fantasy man, and it's only when he belatedly remembers Astile, sleeping only a few metres away, that his ardour is guiltily quelled. The whole thing is so wrong of him, he knows that, but, he knows even more guiltily, that might be part of the allure.

The next day, Astile says he'd like to go into the city. Peter would too, for reasons both noble and not - he knows there's danger there, danger and temptation, and he knows that if he encounters them, his resistance is untested. There's a dark little part of him still that _wants_ to go and find them, and he knows, with heavy resignation, that that will probably never go away. But it's not even just a question of resisting - it's resisting and not freaking out, resisting and remaining calm and in control, for Astile more than anything. The prospect of having to act normal and relaxed and responsible is even more anxiety-inducing than all the dangers he might come across in the heat of the city. 

But he has a brainwave. If going to the city with Astile, and having to be responsible for both of them, is too much, why doesn't he ask another adult to accompany them? Peter congratulates himself on his genius - he can ask Carl if he and his family want to come along, and then Peter will have extra eyes on Astile, and extra focus for his own wayward mind. And the cherry on top is that he'll have more time to spend with Carl as well.

He feels so relieved that he's come up with a plan, that he feels almost excessively confident in asking Carl if they'd like to come along. It's only as the words leave his mouth that he considers that the answer might be no, they might have their own ideas, they might not want to babysit Peter's kid, they might be sick of Peter hanging around like a creeper. But it's too late to worry about any of that, because he's already said it, like a hopeless, desperate fool, which he supposes isn't far wrong after all.

He's glad he didn't waste time worrying about it after all, though, because Carl smiles at him warmly, as if he's delighted to be asked, and Peter's heart does that funny little skip again.

“That sounds great, we'd love to come,” Carl enthuses. 

Peter is secretly very pleased that he didn't even bother to check with his sister, there's no hesitation. 

“Oh good,” he says, trying to hide the extent of his relief. “It'll be reassuring for me, having other adults there, keep an eye on him,” he explains earnestly, wanting to make it clear that it's not _just_ about getting to see more of Carl's blue eyes and shapely calves and pert bum in shorts. “I know it might be hazardous, and I'm not used to having to look after anyone. Not even myself,” he chuckles, hoping it sounds like a joke.

Carl just smiles at him kindly. “Don't worry,” he says softly, and Peter thinks Carl must remember what he said about that moment on the beach, and it's embarrassing to be known, but undeniably nice to be understood. 

Well, mostly. Carl doesn't have to know that his greatest task will be to protect Peter from himself, but he'll be doing it whether he knows it or not. It's really rather helpful to have developed this silly, giddy crush, because it gives Peter a very useful point of distraction from all the other, less pleasant, things that wait in his mind for their moment to pounce.

It's not far into the city, and transport is easy enough to find and use, even for Peter. He feels a certain jitter inside, a nervousness, but an excitement too. This is a test, he knows, but a useful one, and, hopefully, an enjoyable one. The conditions are as favourable as they're ever going to be - just act normal, Peter tells himself, until you really are. 

Carl's sister has a guide book, and she reads out some possibilities. “What about the temple?” she suggests. “Says there are spectacular views, and it's a ‘cultural highlight’,” she quotes. 

Peter is neither religious nor particularly spiritual, but the temple sounds and looks interesting, and Peter is always keen to explore things outside his current realm of understanding. It's rather too much for him to hope for instant inner peace, he thinks, but it certainly can't hurt to have a look.

It's a bit of a walk up to the temple, and Carl carries his younger son, talking to him with such natural affection and fatherliness that Peter feels embarrassed at his own lack of skill. He's never really been at ease around children, not being used to having them around, and they seem to regard him with similar wariness. Ramone fixes Peter with a blank-faced stare that makes him rather nervous. Is the child displaying some protective instincts? Does he sense that Peter is trouble, and wants him to stay away from his dad? Peter tries desperately to smile and look like a regular, non-threatening, parental-type figure, but he knows they can pick up on all sorts. He needs Astile to show him how to be better around kids, he thinks with irony. 

At least Astile continues to seem easygoing enough around him, for which he's so relieved and grateful that, if Astile is also picking up any vibes, they must be good ones for sure. 

It is getting easier, he reminds himself. Every day he relaxes a bit more, every day he feels a bit less worried about fucking it all up. And every day it's a little bit easier for him to accept that actually, Astile does want this, he's happy to have Peter around and he can see that he's at least trying, and he isn't just waiting to rip him to shreds if he might fail, even a little. Unlike so many people Peter encounters, Astile isn't afraid of him, or suspicious of him, or in any way hostile - he's eager to engage, responsive to Peter's steadily less timid conversational gambits, and doesn't seem as quick to judge or scorn as Peter might expect from a teenage boy. Peter really must thank Lisa for that, not only for raising their son to be such a mature and well-mannered boy, but also for not telling him things that might make him wary, or badmouthing Peter in his absence. That's more than Peter deserves, he thinks, but he's grateful for the chance now. It makes things look so much brighter. 

He has Carl to thank as well, in some part, because not only has Carl given him genuinely useful advice and encouragement, he's also, though he can't realise it, helped Peter realise that his past isn't an inevitable and inescapable part of him - it's not immediately visible to everyone he meets, and it is possible for him to get along with people now, even after everything he's done in his life. He might not ever be normal, and nor would be ever want to be, but then, he doesn't really think Carl seems that normal either, and if he can navigate the world, and both deal with and be dealt with by it, then Peter has hope that he can too.

Outside the temple complex are an array of caged birds, colourful and noisy, but it's a sad sight, Peter thinks, the dirty little cages piled haphazardly as the crowds pass by. He sees some other tourists stop and give their tender some money, and watches as one of the cages is lifted from the pile and opened, the fragile little bird inside flapping, bewildered, out and up into the sky, quickly out of sight.

“It's supposed to be good karma,” Lucie reads from the guide book. “You release a bird, you do a good deed.”

Astile and Eli decide that they'd like to free a bird too, but Lucie has words of caution.

“It says here that they advise against it, because if people pay to free the birds, more birds will be caught and trapped,” she explains. “Better not to encourage it.”

“That's not much good to these birds here, now, is it?” says Carl. “Can't rely on the market forces of capitalism to make people do the right thing!”

Peter has to smile at that, a little sadly. “So if these fellas don't get freed, other birds stay safe. A sacrifice for the entire bird community,” he thinks out loud. He crouches to look at the birds, skittish and shrill in their cages. “Imprisoned for a crime you didn't commit, eh,” he murmurs. “I know how you feel, mate.” He immediately berates himself - _don't sound like you know too much about prison, you idiot!_ \- but he can only hope that no one heard, and especially not Astile, because he'd hate his son to think he felt trapped with him, when in reality he thinks Astile could be vital in his freedom. 

But no one has batted an eyelid. Of course they haven't. He tells himself sternly to calm down - he can't start getting paranoid and preoccupied when the day's barely even got started. He remembers Carl telling him to relax, and hearing it in someone else's voice somehow seems to help. 

The temple, as well, is a place of peace, after all. It's thronged with people, as he might have expected, but there's a feeling, with the smell of the incense in the open air, of calm and acceptance, and Peter tries to absorb it. Don't invent problems where they don't even exist, he tells himself. Everything is going fine. He's coping, and more than that, he's _enjoying_ himself. He takes a moment, here in the safety of the temple, to appreciate that and be grateful for it. He must remember.

The temple itself is modern and perhaps gaudy to some eyes, but the kids enjoy the gold and the larger than life statues, with their grotesque, characterful expressions. Peter likes the treasures, and the painstakingly decorated halls and ornate carvings. It's all very lavish and pristine, the giant face of Buddha gazing over them benevolently. They're there in time to hear the monks reciting prayers, the sound distinctive and atmospheric, and it adds to the effect, the other-worldly feeling, the heightening of all the senses, pleasant and harmonious. 

“That was incredible,” says Carl as they leave to make their way back down the flight of steps to the city below. “The energy of the whole place, really something else. I've never been anywhere like it in my life.” 

He sounds boyish and earnest, and Peter smiles, charmed. The city is a sharp contrast, bustling and hectic, but it's cheerful and full of colour and Peter doesn't feel overwhelmed, but energised. It's new and different and vibrant and Peter can get lost in it, let the sounds of life fill the gaps in his mind. 

There’s something of a contrast in Carl, too, when he says, almost thoughtfully, “I bet it looks incredible at night. All lit up and busy.” He hesitates just for a second, and when he speaks again, Peter knows for sure he’s speaking to him and him only. “Do you fancy sticking around a bit later? Maybe having a few drinks?”

Peter, never one to pay much heed to what might be called better judgement, is actually rather grateful for the overriding instinct within him which makes him reply immediately, “Yeah, that sounds good,” because that is what a normal person would say, isn’t it? A normal person, agreeing to go for a few casual beers with a new acquaintance, no big deal, nothing to second guess or vacillate out loud over. 

Except Peter isn’t just second guessing, he’s third guessing as well. Going for a night out in a big, touristy Thai city is probably the last thing he should be doing - who knows what goes on after dark, in those dark nooks and crannies, down alleys and in closed doorways. Who knows what might come for him, and he doesn’t know how he’ll react if it does. 

But, rightly or wrongly, that’s all rather overshadowed in his jumbled up brain by the notion that _Carl has asked him out_ , and he would really much rather think about that. Of course, maybe Carl isn't thinking of it with quite the romantic connotation Peter is. Maybe Carl is just being friendly, glad to have a suitable excuse to let his hair down and a companion to do it with. But that’s good enough for Peter. If Carl wants to spend more time with him, in a more relaxed, grown up sort of setting, Peter can’t help but jump at the chance.

Carl smiles at him, obviously pleased with his response, and Peter’s stomach does an excitable little flip, no matter what Carl’s reasons might be. 

“It’ll be fun,” Carl says. “Lads’ night out, innit?”

Peter smiles back, relieved and happy that he was right in his assumption that Carl really does apparently intend it to be just the two of them. He watches, not without amusement, at lunch as Carl raises the idea to his sister, trying to sound casual, but for all the world sounding like a teenager asking his parents if he can go to a party. If she and Zoe could take the kids back to the hotel he’d really be so grateful, and if they wouldn’t mind looking after Astile for the night as well? Fortunately Lucie must be keen enough on letting him relax and have fun that she readily agrees, and, also fortunately, Carl and his family must have curried enough favour with Astile that he seems to think that the suggestion is acceptable too. Peter is thankful once again for Lisa and her tribe of female friends for the ease with which Astile conducts himself around women of their age.

Peter can’t wait. All his worries have become miniscule against the prospect of having Carl all to himself. He can feel the pieces slotting into place. It’s perfect, and what he told himself yesterday is crystallising in his imagination. He can visualise it so clearly, the kiss he decided upon, the moment and the touch and the taste of Carl’s lips, and he’ll wait for it, wait till it’s exactly the right time. 

Even if it never comes, watching for it will keep his mind off other looming temptations, at the very least. 

They pass the afternoon pleasantly enough, browsing markets and strolling in gardens, and Peter is aware that he's the cheeriest he's been since he arrived here. It's to everyone's benefit, really, he thinks, even if he does feel vaguely guilty that he's looking forward to this evening, when he'll be without his child, so much. But it's not like he's tired of being a father already, or bored or even scared anymore - it's just one evening, every parent does that, right? And anyway, it was Carl's idea, and he's a very good dad - Peter is just helping him out, it would be rude to refuse his offer, right?

Right.

Astile doesn't seem to mind anyway, enjoying being a big brother again to the two younger boys and being treated to ice cream and endless iced drinks by Lucie and Zoe. It seems that everyone is, whether they mean to or not, working to make Peter's life easier, just like they are for Carl, too, and Peter frankly isn't used to it. It's all rather too good to be true. That's what a fresh start will do for you, he muses. All he has to do is carry on like he has so far, one step, one minute, one day at a time. Simple.

The rest of the family are dispatched after dinner, and Peter feels a certain amount of butterflies inside, with both excitement and nervousness. He's got no idea what to expect, but he knows he'll probably agree to whatever Carl suggests. 

“Walking Street, that's the place to be, or so I've heard,” Carl says decisively. “I thought we could go and have a few drinks there, if that sounds alright to you?”

It sounds just fine to Peter. Walking Street, which was shuttered and deserted earlier in the day, is now crowded and neon lit, bars full of rowdy tourists, but it's still early in the night, everyone is good natured, and although it's busy, Peter and Carl find a decent place to sit and drink. Carl seems animated and enlivened, and maybe he does feel some freedom without having to be the responsible parent for the night. He's not different, not changed beyond recognition, just that bit more open, more like a regular grown up, the kind Peter is used to. It's great to see him so carefree, Peter thinks, delighting in Carl's naughtier jokes, and his laughter that grows less and less restrained as the evening goes on.

“You know what we should do,” Carl exclaims presently. “A ladyboy show!” 

Of all the things Peter was expecting, that was not high on the list. He's not opposed to the idea, not at all, but it wasn't necessarily something he would have thought Carl might be interested in. He'd think it was a drunken whim, but they've not even had that much to drink yet. Nevertheless, Peter's head spins a little at the surprise of the suggestion, but he agrees, of course, because - as Carl succinctly puts it - “In Thailand, you've got to, haven't you?”

Who is Peter to argue?

So, they find themselves at a grand theatre - coincidentally just in time for the evening show - with rather good seats to see the cabaret. It's all incredibly sumptuous and slick, and the performers are talented, and Peter enjoys himself, but he can't help but be struck every so often by the surreality of the moment, that this is where his life his brought him, with almost no warning at all. The drastic fluctuations of fate, he thinks to himself with amusement.

“What did you think?” he asks, when they've made their way free of the scrum striving for photos with the performers after the show, and are settled once again side by side on a bench at a pavement table with more drinks. He’s curious as to whether it lived up to Carl’s expectations, whatever they were. 

“Well, it was good,” Carl says, and Peter can hear the ‘but’ before it comes. “But it was a bit safe wasn't it? A bit tame, I mean. I kind of thought it might be a bit more risque, for the night time show.”

Peter wants to laugh, but he daredn't, and besides, he fears he might have a nosebleed. What did Carl come here wanting, exactly? A flamboyant western-style drag show? A ladyboy strip show? He’s really rather taken by the idea that Carl has a saucy side, especially of that nature. 

He can't resist having a little tease, and if he's lucky, he might glean some useful information from Carl's response, too. 

“Oh, you wanted one of them to come and sit on your knee, did you?” he says, nudging Carl gently with a grin.

Carl squirms, just a little bit, but he's smiling. “Would be nice if someone did,” he mumbles, and Peter really wants to say that he’d be more than happy to oblige, but he stops himself, at least for the moment.

He can't leave Carl's comment alone entirely though, and he rather wonders if Carl doesn't want him to, if he really does want to talk to Peter about things that are a bit more intimate. Peter knows he needs to choose his response carefully - he doesn’t want to make a joke out of something that Carl really has sensitive feelings about, and besides that, he can’t help but feel there’s a lead in Carl’s words. If Peter were a girl, he suspects he would feel like he was being flirted with, and that’s an exciting thought that only fuels his imagination and brings his daydreams and desires closer to his grasp.

Peter can see his chance, and he’s never usually shy about making the most of those, but he knows he has to tread a fine line. Test the water. 

So Peter says, lightly but with affection, “Oh come on, I can't believe you're short of volunteers! You're not a bad looking fella y'know.” 

Carl ducks his head, delightfully shy. “It's true though,” he insists, looking wistful. “The kids are my whole life now really, they keep me so busy, there's not much time for meeting people.”

Peter feels a deep pang of sympathy, and the earnest urge to help. If his company is welcome, he's glad to be able to provide it, in whatever way Carl would like.

“Would Lucie be able to look after the kids for you sometimes? Now you've moved closer,” Peter suggests.

“Yeah, that's what she said, she does want to help out,” Carl says, with a little fond smile, but that fades quickly. “But even if you have the opportunity, sometimes people just don't want to know, when they find out you have kids. Everyone our age either has kids of their own to deal with, or they've decided they don’t want that responsibility.”

Peter realises that, in a strange way, that echoes something that's familiar to him. People who know his past either want nothing to do with him because they disapprove of the kind of life he used to lead, or because they've led that life themselves, and know it wouldn't be good for them to be reminded of it. 

“It's difficult, isn't it,” he finds himself saying. “To find someone who can accept everything about oneself. Who's willing to work with what you are, even if it's not what they expected.”

Carl nods. He's looking directly into Peter's face, just like he did the day they met, and Peter feels hot just under his gaze.

“It is difficult,” Carl sighs. “And it's lonely. Sometimes I feel the world narrowing around me, and I wonder if I'm still the person I used to be, somewhere in here,” he says, tapping his temple. “I don't often get the chance to try and find out.”

Peter understands what he's saying, the need for freedom for his mind to roam, expansion of focus from _just that one thing_ \- he knows the feeling of being alone, even when surrounded by people, because they just don’t give him what he needs. 

Carl could give him what he needs, he thinks. He can feel it. And he wants to do the same for Carl, too, if he possibly can. 

“You’d be surprised,” Peter says. He’s spent so long trying to glue the pieces of himself back together, he knows what it’s like to suddenly find a pattern or a shape he hasn’t recognised in years. “Things you thought were lost, things about yourself you’d forgotten had ever existed - you can rediscover them. You can unlock them. If only you can find the right key.” 

Carl is still looking at him intently, and when Peter meets his eyes, he can see that Carl knows exactly what he’s trying to say. 

“I was so glad to meet you here, Peter,” Carl murmurs, and Peter’s heart skips with sudden excitement and anticipation. “It’s been so long since I felt like I connected with anyone, since I met anyone who I wanted to spend time with, who also seemed to want to spend time with me.”

“I know what you mean,” says Peter softly, like he doesn't want anyone to overhear, like he daredn't risk the intimacy of this moment. “I haven’t met anyone like you in ages, someone I feel on a level with. Someone I want to be with because you’re you, not just because you’re there.” That’s it, Peter thinks, that’s the simple truth, and that’s what he wants Carl to know. He can feel it for real now, they’re both edging along the same path, fumbling towards each other, and he’s just desperately hoping they can meet in the middle, before the moment melts away.

Peter isn’t going to be the one to let that happen, now that he has it in the palm of his hand. Carl isn’t looking away from him, and he knows this is it, this is what he’s been waiting for. He shifts closer, and so does Carl, and Carl leans in, and Peter tilts his head, and then their lips are meeting, sweet and soft and a little bit shy.

Peter's heart is hammering in his chest, he thinks he probably hasn't been this excited by a kiss since he was a teenager, but it feels so lovely to get what he wants, and to know Carl wants it too. He parts his lips a little more, letting the kiss deepen, getting a taste of Carl, loving the feeling of his perfect mouth against his own. He puts his arm around him, holding him close, thrilled when he feels Carl do the same, his hand sliding around his waist to rest in the small of his back, warm and reassuring. _Carl wants him too_ , and when they break apart, he can't wipe the giddy grin off his face.

“What?” murmurs Carl, his lips still only centimetres from Peter's, and unable to stop himself returning the smile. 

“I'm just happy,” says Peter honestly. “I think I wanted to do that since I first saw you.”

Carl giggles, sounding embarrassed, but in a nice, flattered sort of way. He kisses Peter again, more confidently now Peter has said that, and Peter is quickly caught up in it, lost to the thrill of Carl's delicious lips on his own, and the heady freedom to keep doing the thing he's daydreamed about so much over the past few days.

The next time they break their kiss, Carl pulls a little bit further back, and he's wearing a slightly troubled expression that Peter has begun to recognise. He can't deny the cold, sinking feeling that immediately settles, heavy in his stomach, as he waits to hear what's got Carl worried now. That was nice while it lasted, but maybe Carl has decided that Peter doesn't deserve nice things after all and this was all a brief and unfortunate mistake that he now wants out of.

At least Carl doesn't give him time to get too far down that doom-ridden thought path before he says, “I just had a thought - is this… acceptable here?” He whispers the last part, gesturing between himself and Peter discreetly, as if they hadn't been kissing with increasing enthusiasm for the last five minutes. 

Peter shrugs, relieved that that's what was on Carl's mind. “I don't know,” he says honestly. He doesn't add that he also doesn't care, because Carl seems to, but he does say, “But just in case it isn't, shall we get out of here?” He congratulates himself a little on his quick thinking in offering a great excuse to go somewhere more private.

“Good idea,” agrees Carl, his worried look entirely replaced by a growing smirk. He downs the rest of his drink, and Peter grins and does the same.

They waste no time in getting a taxi, and Peter can hardly contain himself, he feels fluttery and fizzy inside, like a shaken up can of Coke. He meets Carl’s eyes in the back seat of the car, and they smile at each other, hands sliding across the space between them to meet and entwine in the middle. They don’t kiss again yet, and it just makes Peter long for it more, his gaze lingering on Carl’s lips, remembering their warmth on his own, and his heart skips again, unable to think about anything but kissing Carl again.

Carl looks at him and smiles, like he feels just the way Peter does, like they're sharing a wonderful secret, just the two of them. He squeezes Peter's hand tighter, and Peter can't wait till they're alone together, properly alone, for the first time. Just thinking about it makes his skin goosepimple with excited anticipation. Not for the first time since he's met Carl, he feels like a teenager again, and it's a very welcome feeling, to have that new, fresh, tangible excitement buzzing through him, sharp and real, not dulled by any darkness or any substance for the first time in a very long time.

It feels like it takes far longer than it really does before they're back at the hotel, and as they get out of the car Peter's stomach flips, struck again by the realisation that this is real, Carl is right here with him, ready to spend the night with him, and he can't wait any longer, he reaches for him and kisses him again.

Carl kisses him more freely now they're alone and in the dark, and Peter feels dizzy with it, so caught up in all the things he's feeling. Eventually he has to break the kiss again because he can't stop himself from smiling.

“Your place or mine?” he asks Carl jokingly, but he realises he really doesn't know what the best option is.

“Shall we check yours first?” whispers Carl, as if someone might overhear and tell them off, like they really are teenagers staying out too late to do naughty things. “The kids should all be with Lucie.”

“Good idea,” murmurs Peter, his heart beating faster again at the clandestine feeling of it all, like there'll be trouble if anyone were to catch them. They're grown people, it isn't wrong of them really, but there is just an edge of something they probably shouldn't be doing, the sense that eyebrows might be raised if anyone knew, but that just adds a little extra spice, as if any were needed. 

Sneaking around in the dark grounds of the hotel is undeniably exciting, pausing to kiss in a secluded leafy nook, with only a sliver of the moon to see. It's the sort of midnight romance that's wired straight to Peter's heart, and it makes him glad to be alive, and free, and here.

Eventually they slip into Peter's cabin, leaving the lights off even when they've ascertained that they're definitely alone. It feels in keeping with their secret, the spell they've cast over each other in the darkness, and they move towards Peter's bed, kissing with increasing urgency, and starting to tug at each other's clothes as they go. Peter is grateful they’re in a hot country, not many layers to negotiate, no stupid things like socks, just easily kick-offable flip flops and not much complication. They’ve seen each other shirtless before, of course, but now Peter doesn’t have to hide his lust, his hunger as Carl pulls his t-shirt over his head, and now he can give in to his urge to reach out and touch that smooth skin. Carl, so golden in the bright Thai sun, is cast silver now in the moonlight that streams through Peter’s uncurtained window, and Peter licks his lips, heat spiralling inside him, stroking his hands down Carl’s chest to his waist and scrabbling at his waistband eagerly. 

Carl reciprocates, kissing Peter again hotly as they ease each other out of their shorts. Peter’s heart is racing, his skin tingles everywhere Carl touches him, he’s burning up with arousal already, flooded with it, like a tap turned on as soon as they touched, and his whole body is filled up with the need to have Carl close, against him, in bed with him, all over him. 

Peter isn’t hanging around any longer. He takes his hands off Carl just long enough to take off his underwear and get on the bed, gazing up at Carl with wide, captivated eyes. He feels like he’s never watched anything so intently as Carl gets rid of his own underwear and comes to join him. That need is thrumming through him, louder and hotter, and as soon as Carl is there on the bed with him Peter puts his arms around him and pulls him close and kisses him feverishly, holding nothing back. 

Peter rolls onto his back, bringing Carl on top of him. He's aware properly, for the first time, of Carl's erection pressed against him, and he shivers with a rush of excitement that Carl wants him, and he wants Carl, desperately, and they're right on the cusp of doing something about it.

Carl rubs against him with a barely concealed groan, grasping at Peter's hips, and Peter is in raptures that being with him could have such an effect on this gorgeous creature. Carl kisses Peter's mouth and down over his jaw and neck, and Peter melts under the feeling of his lips and tongue on his skin, made so sensitive with arousal and the heat between them.

Carl pulls back just a fraction, so Peter can just about see his face, and he reaches up to tuck Carl's hair behind his ear so he can look at him more clearly, make the most of every chance he can. Carl, even now, looks a little worried, but Peter is already used to that by now, and on previous evidence, he's rather inclined to think it will be something and nothing, and not anything that will cause any more than a brief pause in proceedings.

“I've… not done this with another bloke in ages,” he confesses, his words a hushed mumble but his hands still firm on Peter's body. 

Peter was right. Nothing to worry about. He supposes Carl was offering the information as some kind of disclaimer, in case he isn't any good and Peter doesn't enjoy it, which he highly doubts will be the case. “You remember what to do, don't you?” he quips, mock-serious.

To Peter's relief, Carl chuckles, and kisses Peter's lips. “I think so,” he murmurs.

“I mean, even if you don't, I'll be delighted to help you,” Peter assures him, grinning. “And besides,” he adds, his hands roaming Carl's body. “Just in case you haven't noticed, I really am quite enamoured of you.You'll barely have to touch me and I'll be ready to come. You won't have to work too hard at all.”

Carl giggles, burying his face in Peter's neck again, and Peter laughs a little too, relieved and raring to go. His hands have found their way to Carl's pert little arse, and he holds Carl against him, rocking his hips as Carl does the same. Even this feels so dangerously good, and Peter desperately tries to rein himself in, not get carried away too soon, because what he told Carl was absolutely true. He fancies Carl so much that he's already too wound up, and he really wants to feel Carl inside him, be as close as they possibly can be. Peter's toes curl just thinking about it, how good it's going to feel.

“Hold on, just a minute,” Peter manages breathlessly. “Just need-” he mutters, urging Carl off so he can get out of bed. “Should’ve thought of this before,” he mumbles to himself, rummaging through his bag messily. 

After a few moments Carl helpfully turns on the bedside light. Peter feels like an idiot, but he finds what he’s looking for and swiftly returns to the bed. Carl is just smiling affectionately at him, raising his eyebrows when he sees the condom and lube Peter is bringing back with him.

“Hope springs eternal,” says Peter dryly, and Carl laughs softly. 

With the light on, and the interruption, and relinquishing Carl’s closeness for a few minutes, Peter suddenly feels vulnerable, self-conscious, even fraudulent. Carl can see him now, really see him, examine him in a way he hasn’t had chance to before, and Peter is suddenly very aware of the marks on his body and the scars that Carl might see and feel and wonder about. 

“Carl,” he blurts out, even as he gets back in bed and Carl immediately comes close again and covers his body with his own. “Carl, there’s some things I haven’t told you-”

But that’s as far as he gets, because Carl quiets him with a finger placed lightly on his lips, and if Peter’s arousal had in any way diminished in his moment of anxiety, it’s restored to its full height and even more now, because that simple gesture is so sexy his skin prickles and his heart kicks up another gear. 

“You don't have to tell me,” murmurs Carl. “You don't have to tell me ever, if you don't want to. For now, let's just not worry about anything, eh?”

Peter smiles, relieved. He kisses Carl's finger until Carl takes it away and replaces it with his lips, letting himself get caught up in being with Carl all over again. He spreads his legs so Carl fits between them, and even feeling Carl there, the heat of his cock against Peter's inner thigh, is making Peter feel consumed with want. He rubs himself shamelessly against Carl, trying to encourage him, let him know he needs him, he’s ready for it. 

Carl obviously is too, and he gets the message, fumbling for the condom and pulling away from Peter for just long enough to put it on. Peter wants to touch him, explore him, find out exactly what he likes, but right now, more than anything, he wants Carl inside him, and he welcomes Carl back down into his arms eagerly. He tilts his head up for Carl to kiss him, slow and deep and thorough, and even just that, just kissing Carl so intimately, is enough to make him tremble, it feels too lovely. Peter has never felt more ready in his life when Carl starts to push inside him. He rocks his hips up against him eagerly, encouraging him, letting him know how much he wants him, all of him, as deep as he can get. Peter's eyes fall closed and his head lolls back on the pillow, even just having Carl there, all the way inside, feels so fulfilling, Peter savours it, enjoying every sensation as Carl starts to move. He goes gently at first, teasing Peter a little, winding him up and building the anticipation, making him moan and clutch at Carl until he picks up the pace a bit. It feels good, so deliriously good, like a wonderful sexy dream, and Peter still can't quite believe that it isn't one, that he really is here in bed with Carl. He doesn't think he's ever been so immediately and deeply attracted to anyone before in his life, and that just deepens his want and enhances every moment and every touch and every feeling. 

Maybe it's because it's been a while, maybe it's because he's been lusting after Carl just so much, but he can feel himself getting there too quickly, and he wants to savour it, doesn't want to waste a single drop of pleasure by rushing through it. 

“Slower,” he pants. “Go a bit slower.”

Carl lifts his head and looks at him, though he's still so close Peter is sure he mustn't be able to focus. “Slower?” he groans, and Peter gives a breathless laugh at the surprise in his voice.

“It feels too good,” Peter murmurs. “Want it to last longer.”

Carl smiles, mollified, and does as Peter asks. He drops his head again to kiss Peter’s neck with soft lips and a hot mouth, grinding his hips deeper into Peter and making him screw his eyes shut so tight he sees stars. The slow rub of Carl as he moves inside him, finding the right place every time, makes Peter shudder and moan, body lax with pleasure under Carl’s, not able or even needing to move, just content to lie there and enjoy everything Carl is doing to him and everything he’s making him feel. He strokes his hands over Carl’s smooth back, revelling in the closeness and intimacy as well as the pure physical satisfaction. This pace magnifies every sensation, makes it all feel so much more intense, a simmering heat deep inside him and throughout him, and Peter doesn’t want it to end, but it’s not long before he’s starting to feel like he needs to come, it’s just too much and too good. 

He angles his hips up, and slides his hands down to Carl’s arse, pulling him as close as he can get, and he’s gratified when Carl shivers against him and moans, so close to his ear that he feels it as well as hears, and he feels a fresh thrill at being able to make Carl react like that so easily. 

Carl must pick up on Peter’s renewed urgency, and maybe he feels it as well, because he pants in Peter’s ear, “Do you want me to go faster again?” in a breathless tone that suggests he very much hopes the answer is yes. 

“Yes, yes please,” whispers Peter, and he brings his hands back up so he can hold Carl, one arm tight around his waist, and the other hand in his sweat-damp hair, keeping Carl where his beautiful mouth can stay kissing the sensitive skin of Peter’s throat. 

Peter cries out as Carl thrusts harder into him now, so perfectly how he wants it that it takes him by surprise. He’s so wound up now that he feels himself spiralling quickly, a rising tide inside him, and when Carl reaches between them to grasp his cock it’s just like he imagined, it barely takes a few strokes before Peter can’t contain himself any longer, and he comes, shuddering and moaning as Carl continues to move. That feels even better, and Peter can’t remember the last time he came so hard, and then Carl is coming too, jerking in his arms and gasping Peter’s name, and Peter is sure he hasn’t felt such bone-deep and pure satisfaction in years and years. This is all he needs, he thinks, he could be happy, if he could have this, if he could have _Carl_ , anytime he wanted. 

Carl slows and eventually stills, and Peter enjoys the weight of his body on top of his own. He strokes his fingertips gently over Carl’s back, damp with sweat, and grins to himself in the darkness, not quite able to believe things could have gone so perfectly.

“I enjoyed that,” he murmurs, and Carl chuckles, lifting his head so he can softly kiss Peter’s lips again. His kiss tastes just as good after the fact.

“So did I,” Carl replies, voice a little rough and husky. Peter rather likes it. He likes everything about Carl, and everything he could possibly do, right at this moment. 

Peter kisses Carl again, because if he doesn’t he’s going to end up blurting something out, but even when they break the kiss, he finds he still wants to say it. 

“I wouldn’t mind doing it again sometime,” he says, because it’s all he can think about. Maybe it’s a bit soon, but after all, haven’t things gone better than he could possibly have imagined up until now? He has no reason to believe they shouldn’t continue that way. And besides, why shouldn’t Peter be honest about his feelings? It’s the only way he really knows how to be.

“Me neither,” murmurs Carl without hesitation. He finally shifts off Peter, but he doesn't go far, just rolls onto his back beside him on the bed, their shoulders still touching.

Peter feels relieved, the first indications are good, so he feels emboldened to press on, just to make sure he’s made himself clear. 

“And I mean… when we go back to England, if you wanted to meet up… Brighton’s not that far from London,” he says, suddenly feeling self-conscious. He’s remembering what Carl said, about how hard it is to find someone to enjoy the company of and spend time with, but he suddenly hopes that Carl doesn't think that the sex was all well and good, but Peter isn't worth an hour on the train. 

“I picked the wrong time to move away, didn't I,” Carl says ruefully. “But that would be lovely. I mean, if you don't mind…”

“I don't mind anything,” says Peter quickly, his heart feeling a little giddy. “If we can find each other here, thousands of miles away from home, but somehow in the same place at the same time, I'm sure we can manage to meet up in the same little corner of England.”

Carl smiles. “You said you like the seaside, didn't you,” he murmurs.

“I love it,” says Peter sincerely. “And you said you love London.”

“I do,” agrees Carl. He pauses for a moment, and his hand finds Peter's under the bedcovers. “You know… earlier, you said there were some things you hadn't told me. And I said you didn't have to, if you didn't want to. But, just so you know, if you do want to tell me, I'll listen. Any time you feel ready.” 

Peter's heart squeezes in his chest, and he squeezes Carl's hand in response. He's so wonderfully touched that Carl wants to know, even the things he must sense Peter keeps hidden for a reason. But Peter does want him to know. Just, maybe not right now. 

“Thank you,” he says simply. 

“So,” says Carl, and he sounds as shy and hopeful as Peter feels. “How much longer are you here for?”

“Another week,” says Peter. His time here already feels like it’s gone in the blink of an eye, but when he looks back, he can see just how much has happened, in his head and in his heart. 

“Us too,” says Carl, a smile spreading across his face. 

Peter mirrors it, feeling like a goofy, lovestruck idiot, but he doesn’t mind. The last thing he wants is for Carl to not realise exactly how much he’s wanted. If Peter was to miss this chance, he at least doesn’t want it to be because he left any doubt or ambiguity. 

“That gives us a bit of time to get to know each other better, doesn’t it,” he murmurs, turning a little and reaching out to touch Carl with his free hand. “Have some fun together.”

“I hope so,” Carl agrees, still smiling as he lets Peter lean over and kiss him. 

It occurs to Peter that tomorrow they’ll probably have to have some kind of conversation with their families about this, and he’s probably going to feel like an awkward teenager again, but right now, safe in this happy bubble with Carl, it feels worth it. He supposes that he mustn’t get carried away and think he’s banished all his problems by finding someone he likes, even if Carl likes him back. He still has no idea how Carl might react, if Peter finds the courage and the moment to tell him everything about himself, but he’s oddly unafraid. Carl has been nothing but encouraging and supportive until now, when Peter has intimated that he might struggle, but he’s trying - and besides, he already knows that Carl has a past too. Peter hopes Carl trusts him with that too some day - he feels no apprehension about what Carl might say, so he hopes and believes that Carl might feel the same. 

The one thing he’s truly certain of is that feeling like this, so content and satisfied and like he has something to look forward to - those feelings haven’t been a certainty to him recently, and Peter wants to follow them as far as they'll take him. At a time in his life where things have ended, and he desperately needs to fill the holes they’ve left behind, he’s going to embrace and cherish and nurture this thing that feels like it could be the beginning of something, something good for him, and for the first time in a long time he's determined to do his best for it, to work at it, to try to hold onto it for as long as he can.


End file.
